Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  Chapter Nine

  FOR the young people it was like a bright light switching on, banishing the dreary post-war gloom. In dance halls around the country, decorous waltzes and quicksteps gave way to the loud beat and dizzying whirl and spin of rock’n’roll. It was their music, and they loved it. English boys, unable to afford expensive guitars and double basses, formed skiffle groups. Lonnie Donegan had his first skiffle hit with Rock Island Line in the first week of 1956.

  Rock Around the Clock was followed by new hits.

  ‘See you later, alligator!’ Lillian would say as she parted from the dancers after a rehearsal, quoting from the latest Bill Haley number.

  ‘In a while, crocodile!’ they would chorus.

  It was rumoured that even Princess Margaret and her set said it to each other.

  Then in the late spring a new and irresistible talent burst upon the scene. With curling lip and soulful eyes, bluesy voice and swivelling hips, Elvis Presley had arrived. For thousands of teenagers, life would never be the same again.

  It was into this bright new world that James was finally released from his national service. He arrived home feeling slightly odd in his stiff new civvies to a tearful welcome from his mother.

  ‘Oh, my darling boy! You’re safe at last. I’ve not been able to sleep this past year, worrying about you.’

  James returned her hug. She felt more birdlike than ever. He was afraid to hold her too tightly.

  ‘Yeah, home now to plague you, Mum. You’ll be wishing I was out from under your feet again within a week,’ he teased, uneasy at the thought of her constant anxiety. If he had stayed in Britain for the two years, she wouldn’t have been lying awake convinced that his life was in danger. But he had been eager for a foreign posting, wanting to get as much experience as possible out of his time, and he had landed himself in what was practically a war zone.

  ‘Oh, darling, as if I would! It’s just so wonderful to have you back, safe and sound. Let me have a look at you. Oh, but you’ve grown into such a fine young man! So handsome! Do you know, you’re the image of your poor dear father. And you’re looking so fit and brown. I can’t get over it.’

  ‘Plenty of sport and army food, Mum. And it’s lovely and sunny in Cyprus,’ James said, embarrassed at all the personal scrutiny. ‘Here—I said I’d bring you oranges fresh off the tree. Look, they’ve still got their leaves on. You’ll never taste anything as juicy as these.’

  It was strange being back home. The flat seemed smaller than ever after living in army huts and, even though it was hardly luxurious, it was soft and feminine, a total contrast to the all-male regime he was used to. James set about getting on with the next part of his life. His old job had been left open for him and he took it up again as a stopgap. He’d learnt a lot in the army, and planned a great deal more. Working at Dobson’s would keep the money coming in while he laid the foundations for his own business.

  He picked up the threads of his social life too, looking up friends who like him had finished their national service. And then there were the Parkers. Susan insisted that he came with her to visit them.

  ‘They’re all dying to see you again,’ she told him.

  James doubted that. He and Bob tolerated each other for Susan’s sake, Mrs Parker liked him because he was useful and Lillian—Lillian was a bit of an embarrassment. She’d written him several long and rambling letters while he’d been in Cyprus, saying how much she missed him. As for the others, he suspected that they disliked him as much as he disliked them. Except for Wendy. He did hope that Wendy might look at him more favourably now that he was no longer a kid. Now, if she had written him letters, that would have been altogether different.

  He walked down to the Parkers’ on Saturday evening with Susan, on his way to the Kursaal.

  ‘So Wendy’s not got engaged or anything?’ he asked, as casually as he could.

  ‘No, she’s far too flighty to settle down. She never seems to go out with anyone for more than a few weeks,’ Susan said.

  ‘You don’t like her much, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not that at all. I like all of Bob’s family. It’s just that Wendy and I are very different, that’s all.’

  That was very true. Susan was perfect wife material, neat, loyal and domesticated. Wendy was—he hardly had the words to describe Wendy. Exotic, desirable, untamable. But not entirely beyond his reach. He still felt he was in with a chance.

  When they reached the Parkers’, most of them were in the kitchen. While the wireless burbled in the corner, Mrs Parker was ironing, Mr Parker was sitting at the table with his newspaper, Frank was combing his hair into an extravagant quiff, Bob was cleaning out his pipe and Lillian was putting away the newly washed dishes.

  It was Lillian who spotted him first. ‘James! James, you’re back!’ She rushed up to meet him at the back door, then stopped short, embarrassed. ‘H-hello,’ she said, holding out her hand for a formal shake. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ James responded automatically. He glanced over her shoulder, noted that Wendy was not there and brought his attention back to Lillian. What he saw surprised him. The leggy schoolgirl had grown into a tall young woman in a fashionable full skirt and tight waist, her shiny fair hair in a ponytail and her smile enhanced with pink lipstick.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again,’ he said, keeping his voice cheerful and neutral, strictly older-brotherish. ‘How’s the dancing going?’

  ‘Oh, it’s fantastic! I’ve got loads of new friends and I’m doing a solo in a show next Wednesday afternoon. Miss Hill says I’m—’

  From behind her in the kitchen came a chorus of, ‘Lillian! Door!’

  Lillian’s face creased with frustration. With a dramatic groan, she went to answer the front door bell. Nothing had changed there, then, James noted. He stepped in to greet the rest of the family, and was soon busy answering questions about his time in Cyprus and his plans for the future.

  ‘I’m going back to Dobson’s for the time being,’ he explained, ‘and I’m hoping to get some work on the side. Repairs and services, that sort of thing.’

  He didn’t elaborate. He’d learnt that people tended to think he was just boasting if he said he was going to have his own garage one day. They’d see what he was up to soon enough.

  ‘There’s a lot more cars around than there used to be,’ Bob said.

  ‘I go for motorbikes, myself. Much more fun. Cars are for old men,’ Frank said. ‘Mate o’ mine did the ton up the Southend Arterial the other day.’

  ‘Young fool. Police’ll get him if he’s not careful,’ his father commented.

  Frank laughed. ‘They’ll have to catch him first.’

  The men were arguing about the comparative merits of various cars when Wendy strolled in. She was wearing a crisp striped shirtwaister dress and she looked more stunning than ever.

  ‘So you couldn’t keep away, then?’ she said to James.

  ‘I wasn’t going to miss seeing the prettiest girl in town.’

  Wendy accepted this as nothing more than her due. ‘You’d better look quickly, then, ’cos I’m going out right away.’

  Her father spoke out then, trying to assert his authority. ‘Where are you off to this evening? And who with?’

  Wendy cast her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh, Dad—I’m going to the pictures with Peter.’

  ‘Is that the young whipper-snapper you went out with last week? You mind he brings you back by half past ten.’

  ‘All right, I know. He knows too. You don’t have to go on about it.’

  The doorbell rang again and, for once, Wendy went to answer it. But Lillian was there before her. She flung it open and stood back, saying, ‘Come in, they’re all in the back.’

  Wendy hurried down the hall, gathering her escort up and hustling him back outside, but not before James caught sight of a rather weedy-looking young man and, beyond him, a Morris Oxford parked at the kerb.

  ‘He’s got a car, then,’ he remarked.<
br />
  ‘It’s not his, it’s his dad’s. He’s some big noise out on the new industrial estate,’ Frank said.

  So that was what he had to compete with. To go out with Wendy, you had to have money and, since he was never going to be a rich man’s son, he was going to have to earn it himself.

  Wendy had her own ideas about what she was going to do with her life, and they didn’t include James. If pushed, she would admit that he was rather good-looking, and he had done what he’d said he would and got as far as acting sergeant by the end of his national service, which was more than either of her brothers had done. Maybe if he’d achieved that, he’d go on and make himself rich one day, like Lillian said he planned to do, but Wendy couldn’t wait that long. Leafing through the pages of Picturegoer and looking at the exotic lives of the film stars, she craved silk sheets, swimming pools, sophisticated parties and glamorous gowns. Or—if that was perhaps just too far out of her reach—at the very least she wanted to escape from life at the Sunny View Guest House. What she most feared was turning into a drudge like her mother, slaving away from dawn till dusk in a pinny and a headscarf, her hands getting redder and rougher by the day and no hope of any change for the better.

  And here she was, nearly twenty years old and no sign yet of a rich husband. She’d had proposals all right, but none of the men had been up to scratch. She’d had some fairly rich boyfriends, but none of them had proposed, even though she’d led them on until they’d been begging her. She’d told them that she was a nice girl and she was saving herself for her wedding night.

  Something had to be done before she was over the hill. She had to get herself noticed by the right sort of people. Then Lillian mentioned that she was going to enter the Carnival Talent Contest again.

  ‘I don’t care what Gran says, I’m going to have a go at it. I reckon I’ll have a better chance this time. I’ve had so much tuition from Miss Hill, and I’ve performed in front of people lots of times,’ she said.

  ‘Only OAPs,’ Wendy scoffed.

  Lillian went on to say something else, but Wendy wasn’t listening. The mention of the Carnival had revived an idea. If Lillian could go in for a stupid talent contest, then she could go in for the Carnival Queen. That would get her noticed all right. The Queen and her court went to all the events in town, and travelled to other towns in the area to take part in their carnivals. They got to go to dances and dinners and all sorts of things, and they met lots of people with influence. All the bigwigs in town supported the Carnival. The more she thought about the idea, the more she liked it. She saw herself riding around in a big car, arriving at nice hotels dressed in a white gown and velvet cloak with a sparkly crown on her head, shaking hands with rich men. Yes, that was definitely the answer. If she was honest with herself, she was never going to get to Hollywood, but she did have a good chance of becoming the Carnival Queen. She went to the Carnival offices.

  ‘Do you have to parade in a bathing suit?’ she asked the lady there.

  ‘Oh, no, dear. It’s not the Miss Lovely competition, you know. The choosing of the Carnival Queen is very dignified. She has to represent our borough to the world.’

  ‘Good. I’ll have an entry form, then.’

  That was all right. She would never hear the last of it if she got up on a stage in nothing but a bathing suit. She hung on to the word ‘dignified’. Gran would like that.

  Preliminary rounds were held in hotels around the town. Wendy was assigned to one in Southchurch. She got Peter, her latest boyfriend, to take her in his car.

  ‘You’ll be sure to win. It’ll be a walkover,’ he said.

  ‘This is only the first round. Four girls from each group go forward,’ Wendy told him.

  She tilted the rear-view mirror so that she could check her lipstick. Yes, she did look good. Her hair was freshly set, her make-up was perfect. She practised her smile.

  At the hotel, Peter went off to sit with the spectators in the ballroom, while Wendy joined a mêlée of excited young women in the cloakroom, all trying to make sure they looked their best. Wendy powdered her nose and shook out the skirts of her favourite dance dress, then followed the others to the lounge. A fat middle-aged man with a shining bald patch got up and spoke to them. Wendy disliked him on sight.

  ‘He’s the sort that looks down your cleavage,’ she murmured to the girl next to her.

  ‘Well, now, what a bevy of beauties we have here this evening! I’m sure every one of you deserves to be the Carnival Queen, but I’m afraid we have to choose just four to go to the next round. So you will all parade round the ballroom for everyone to see how lovely you are, and then you will be called up one by one to speak to me at the microphone. Is that clear?’

  ‘Oh, dear, a microphone. I’ve never talked through one of them before,’ the girl next to Wendy said.

  ‘It’s easy,’ Wendy told her, though she had no idea really. It looked easy enough on the television.

  When they entered the ballroom, they were met with a fanfare, bright lights and loud applause. Any nerves that Wendy had melted away with the attention. This was wonderful. This was like being a film star. She walked round in a line with all the other girls, head up, chest out, smiling for all she was worth. Everyone clapped politely. She caught sight of Peter, applauding for all he was worth. Yes, well, he was going the moment she found somebody better.

  They were asked to line up along the back of the ballroom, facing the table at which the three judges sat. Wendy remembered films she had seen and stood slightly sideways with one foot in front of the other and a hand on her hip. She looked good and she knew it.

  The fat man stepped forward and spoke into the mike. He was sweating copiously.

  ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, the Carnival Queen has to meet all sorts of people and make many speeches during her reign, so it is very important that she can speak clearly in public. I’m now going to interview each of these lovely young ladies and see how they shape up.’

  The first girl did nothing but giggle nervously and wave at somebody in the audience. The second was very confident and talked easily about her job and her hobbies. That, Wendy saw, was the way to do it. When it came to her turn, she directed her smile at the judges before turning to the master of ceremonies.

  ‘And now, who do we have here?’ he asked.

  ‘Good evening, I’m Wendy Parker.’ It came out clearly enough. She was pleased.

  ‘Tell me, Wendy, what do you do for a living?’

  ‘I work in Dixon’s on the High Street, in the ladies’ separates department.’

  It was all over far too quickly. Before she knew it, Wendy was back in the line waiting with the rest of the hopefuls. One by one the others were interviewed. A three-piece band played while the judges made their minds up and the girls were asked to parade round the ballroom again. Wendy smiled and smiled till her cheeks began to ache. At last the judges handed a piece of paper to the MC. He walked to the mike.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I now have the result of this evening’s contest. It has been a very hard task for our judges, but a very pleasant one as well—’

  ‘Get on with it—’ Wendy muttered through clenched teeth. The man did like the sound of his own voice.

  Finally, he announced the four winners. There was the confident girl, a tall brunette, a bouncy long-haired girl ‘—and last, but certainly not least, Miss Wendy Parker.’

  Wendy squealed with delight. She was on her way!

  She decided not to tell them at home yet. There was time enough for that if she got through to the final.

  She had to get time off work on a Friday afternoon for the next round. It was held at the Palace Hotel, the huge prestigious place on top of the cliffs by the pier. The Carnival committee was there and the mayor, and this time there were two film stars in charge of events, David Kossoff and Julia Arnall.

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve met anyone famous,’ she confided to the girl next to her.

  It was so exciting. This was what she h
ad entered the contest for.

  Twenty-eight girls went through the same process as last time. Wendy was brimming with confidence now. The whiff of fame gave her a champagne lift. She chattered away to the stars as if they were old friends and strutted back to her place in the line as proud as a catwalk princess. But when the names were called, hers was not among them.

  Wendy couldn’t believe it. Dumbly, she watched the lucky five pose for the camera and speak to a news reporter. How could they be chosen and not her? She was prettier than any of them. She hated every one of them, and even more she hated the stars who had rejected her for this bunch of dumplings. Some of the other competitors were already melting away, their faces as disappointed as hers.

  But then a whisper began to go round the big ballroom—‘Too young! Too young!’

  The mayor and the Carnival committee went into a huddle.

  ‘What is it? What’s going on?’ Wendy demanded of a bystander.

  ‘One of the girls is only seventeen,’ she was told.

  ‘What does that mean? Will she be disqualified?’ Hope began to beat in her heart again.

  ‘That’s what they’re deciding now. The rules are that the girls have to be eighteen to enter.’

  The unfortunate winner was staring out of the window at the sea, biting her lip, while people round her comforted her. Wendy could feel nothing but triumph. She had another chance!

  The committee came to a decision. The rules had to be obeyed. The girl burst into tears. Wendy smiled, hardly daring to breathe. Surely, surely—?

  ‘—so our new contender for the crown is Miss Wendy Parker.’

  ‘Yes!’

  Wendy hardly knew whether she was laughing or crying. She was definitely in the Carnival Court, and she was in the running for Queen. As soon as the pictures were taken and the interviews done, she drew all of the money out of her Post Office savings account and spent it on the most spectacular evening gown she could find. This evening, she had to give it all she’d got.